


Loss of Happening

by deckerisdead



Series: Loss of Happening / Chapter of Change [1]
Category: The Goldfinch (2019), The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, boreo, dumbass twink boris, stupid angsty theo, yeah read the goldfinch by donna tartt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:08:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26785669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deckerisdead/pseuds/deckerisdead
Summary: A world in which Theo's dad never died, he never left Boris.
Relationships: Theodore Decker/Boris Pavlikovsky
Series: Loss of Happening / Chapter of Change [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1953154
Comments: 2
Kudos: 50





	Loss of Happening

**Author's Note:**

> hey there's a lot of triggers in this book so beware!  
> abuse, homophobia, drug and alcohol addiction, self-harm, and sexual assault
> 
> btw i'm sorry for any formatting mistakes, i'm new to ao3

## I.

_The only way to make sense out of change_

_is to plunge into it, move with it,_

_and join the dance._

\- Alan Watts

* * *

## Chapter 1.

## Hand On Mine

* * *

## i.

DRUNK. CAR ACCIDENT. DEAD.

The words were shocking. He was with me, angry and desperate, just hours ago. My palms sweaty and hands shaking as I began the call that led to my father’s passing. I turned to Boris. He appeared more solemn than me, which was not surprising. He certainly enjoyed my dad’s company, much more than I ever did.

As I returned my eyes to Xandra’s broken ones, the light faded and I was back in my bedroom, my heart pounding right out of my chest. I caught a glimpse of the sun rising behind my curtains, which had stains of who-knows-what. Popper was resting between Boris and me. I wondered what it was like for him. Following two boys around mindlessly, thoughts of confusion as they vomited beside the pool.

I was still dazed from the Vicodin that we took the night before. It was our go-to since it was so easy to access. Xandra hid it in plain sight. “Dumbass,” I said to Boris as I threw the plastic bag on the table. He ignored it. He always held a liking for her, for some reason.

“God,” I whispered. The thought that school started tomorrow flooded my brain and ate me up whole. Junior year. What the fuck? Boris and I met at the beginning of freshman year. I thought about it for a good few minutes before waking him up.

“Not now. . .”

I reached downwards and grabbed an old cup of water, splashing it on his face.

“ _Ty suka!_ You bitch!”

I laughed hysterically. We were both sitting up by this point, although Boris had his head in his hands.

He groaned. “Shut up, I got a headache.”

I tried controlling myself, but a couple of giggles came out. I got up swiftly and went into the bathroom. I looked awful. My hair was sticking out in all directions, my shirt wrinkly and underwear practically sliding off. Jesus Christ, I needed a shower. The smell of chlorine was constant and inevitable, it felt like I couldn’t escape it.

When I headed back to my room, Boris was fast asleep once again. I shrugged it off, grabbed some clothes from my floor, walked back to the bathroom, and finally washed myself.

“Hey,” Xandra said as I stepped into the kitchen. She took a sip of her wine, tired as always from her night shift. “Shit, I keep forgetting to tell you but shouldn’t you guys go and buy some new. . . clothes. . . ?” She looked me over. “For school and all that.”

I shrugged. I sprinkled a bit of sugar over two slices of bread. Just how Boris likes it. Turning around, I noticed we still had a couple of beers laying in the living room. I immediately glanced over to Xandra, afraid of her noticing my nervous behavior.

“Don’t worry about it, kid. I did the same. It’s costing us a lot more, though. We run out every day or two.”

I bit my lip. “Okay. . . sorry.”

“Is your friend here?”

“Yeah, of course he is. Can you call him by name for once?”

She rolled her eyes and walked to her bedroom.

## ii.

WE DID AS XANDRA suggested. She gave us thirty bucks each to shop at the mall. It was risky coming back, since last time we got caught shoplifting a couple of sodas. They called my dad. He didn’t care one bit.

I tried to keep a steady pace with Boris, but his legs were much longer and could walk much faster. He would turn around every once in a while, checking on me, who was many feet behind and out of breath. He eventually slowed down and walked beside my panting self.

Resting his arm on my head, he chuckled. “You’re so short.”

“Shut up,” I muttered, grabbing his bony hand and pulling it down. My growth spurt still hadn’t come, yet Boris had his before I even knew he existed.

“Oh my God, Potter.”

I looked to where he was pointing. “Please don’t tell me you’re wasting your money on that. You’d look like a fucking disco ball.”

A blazer covered in gold glitter stood in the window of Formworks, which was a small business. It was easily ignored as people went straight into Hollister and Meryvn’s, (which we were lucky to still have, as most were shut down).

“Don’t question my style. Is magnificent,” he said, flicking my forehead and dashing inside. I followed him. He rushed through the store, trying to find the hideous item of clothing. At last, he spotted it and tried it on. “Come on, I look great, no?”

I cringed. “I’d rather kill you than let you go out in public in that shit.”

He ended up buying it no matter what I told him. It cost the full thirty bucks.

We came home with Boris’s appalling blazer, a yellow button-down I found in the back of Old Navy, and a shit ton of snacks from the food court.“Should we get girlfriends this year?” Boris suddenly asked during our movie marathon. He was drinking his afternoon beer, like always, but I planned to stay sober for tomorrow.“Uhh. . . why?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. Feel like it. Last time I fucked a girl was a year ago.”

“There’s a difference between hooking up and dating.”

“Yah, but. . .” he said.

“You whore.”

He struck me in the stomach, keeping his eyes on the TV. “Shush.”

We went to bed early that night. At least, for us—which was one in the morning. When I was drunk, I was knocked out the second I hit the bed. This time, though, it took me a while. I tossed back and forth to the point where Boris had to secure me in his arms. His hands were a shock to my skin, as they were frigid and dry. His nails were cut carelessly, jagged.

“Sleep, Potter.”

## iii.

THAT MORNING, I FRANTICALLY checked the time on my clock. 6:25 AM. Thank God. I had overthought the day ahead of me, completely disregarding setting the alarm. “Boris, come on, get up.”

“Can’t we just skip?” he asked groggily.

“This is why you should have just stayed sober. You wouldn’t be such a bitch to get up.” I sat up.

A grunt came from him as he rolled off the bed, hitting his head on the floor. 

I couldn’t control my laughter. Still laying on my carpet, he held up the middle finger just for me to see.

This new routine was strange but vaguely familiar in a way. The summer consisted of waking up, falling back asleep, waking up, playfully shoving and running into each other as we puked up the previous night, and leaving the house to do whatever. In the school year, we missed school almost half the time. I hardly remember the days we did go.

I tossed Boris an old button-up to wear underneath his stupid blazer, then snatched my fresh clothing from my desk.

Fortunately, we didn’t miss the bus that morning. A few people snickered as we entered, taking our usual seat in the front. I hoped that it was about Boris’s outfit and not just us in general. Why was I worrying? We didn’t have a bad reputation, Boris was everyone’s supplier of drugs and shit. If anything, we were valued.

“When did you last take a shower? You smell like wet dog,” I asked.

“You do too.”

I rolled my eyes, kicking his shin with my heel. Any form of touching was strictly prohibited. Our bus driver, Mr. Gerrit, would scream in our faces once the vehicle came to a stop. He was in his fifties, previously in the Marines, and gave off the appearance of a furious mother when enforcing his rules.

First off, he didn’t allow any electronics out. We had to look forward the entire time. No cursing, or anything that could imply cursing. It was absurd, we couldn’t even say “frick”.

The kids behind us, who were freshmen, were deafening. They screamed in our ears. It brought me back to the day, hearing static, ringing. Welty’s voice, questioning the whereabouts of Pippa. I scratched my hand continually, which was a bad habit of mine. My throat started to close in, and my eyes shutting tightly.

“Potter?”

I glanced over and from his expression; I noticed my behavior and took a deep breath. “Sorry.”

He took a scan of the bus, then rested his hand on mine.

Boris and I shared only two classes together, sadly. English and Algebra. Both were in the second half of the day. I had to spend my time alone. He was the only person I was friends with, which would be a problem soon.

Thank God for lunch, though.

We sat outside, not too many people around. Boris brought a pack of cigarettes with him. A true lifesaver.

“Holy shit, how old are these?” I said, coughing.

He shrugged. “I found them in the crack of my couch cushions. My dad could got them years ago.”

I threw mine at his hand, immediately causing him to recoil and shriek. “ _Ty skurwielu!_ You fucker!”

As I grinned, he punched my shoulder, also laughing.

“Young men? What on Earth are you doing?”

“We are so screwed,” I whispered to Boris as Mrs. Franklin led us to the principal’s office.

“Did she see us smoking? Is it illegal?”

“Maybe. Oh my God, we were doing like three wrong things. We are going to get expelled.”

“We will be fine, Potter.”

Once we had taken a seat in front of Mr. Talisman, I had already thought of dozens of possible outcomes.

“So, what were they doing, Mrs. Franklin?”

She huffed. “They were putting their hands on each other, swearing, and smoking! What a shame, these children.”

“May you leave us be, now?”

“I’d be glad to.”

I tried to mask my hyperventilating. Boris, on the other hand, seemed calm. But also a little angry, no doubt about that.

“Boys, this isn’t acceptable behavior. I’m not going to lecture you about cursing, though, since you weren’t in a classroom. But we don’t hurt each other in any way.”

Boris leaned forward abruptly. “We were just playing around, is all!”

“I get that, you can do that in other spaces, just not here. Do you understand, Mr. . . um, Boris,” he hesitated.

I covered my smirk with my hand. We both knew hardly anyone could pronounce the mouthful that is “Pavlikovsky”.

“With the cigarette situation, I’m not going to get the police involved, or ask how you got them. I’ll call your parents instead and you’ll have detention later today.”

In relief, I let out the breath I was holding.

“I am sorry that this happened on the first day back. It might affect your relationships with your new teachers. Anyway, I have said enough. You are dismissed from my office and I hope you think about your actions.”

The hour of detention we were sentenced to was overlong and boring. The younger kid in front of me had red and orange hair and wore almost pajama-like clothing, a grey hoodie and black sweatpants. He tapped his pencil on the desk the entire time. I focused on the sound of the clock ticking and it suddenly became much louder than before, annoying even. I glanced at Boris, who was forced to be sat on the complete other side of the classroom, from time to time. He didn’t notice me.

Afterward, we had to walk all the way home. It was awful. A whole hour and a half home in the scorching heat. Boris had his umbrella and all, but it could hardly fit both of us now. With all that time on our hands, we talked about the new kids, teachers, homework, and—like old times, Kotku.

“She’s still hot,” Boris said to me, wiping sweat off his forehead.

I huffed. “You guys broke up.”

“But she’s my friend.”

“You don’t call your friends hot,” I said with a glare.

He elbowed me. “Then me and her should date again, yes?”

Boris noticed me rolling my eyes. “What, Potter? Do _you_ like her?

My face grew red as I stared at him. “No! No way.”

He laughed. “Is alright. I get it. That’s why you never talked about who you like! It was her!”

“Shut the fuck up, I don’t. I’m not lying, _ty_ _mudak_.” I understood what swears Boris said for most of our friendship, but I hadn’t started using them regularly until months ago.

He actually did shut up, and we didn’t talk much until we got home.

## iv.

SURPRISINGLY, NEITHER MY DAD or Xandra commented about the incident at school. Boris and I just headed upstairs to my room and that was it.

I had craved a good smoke all day. My new pack of cigs were lots more satisfying than Boris’s bottom-of-the-couch ones.

“I’m so fucking tired,” I complained. We were sprawled out on my carpet, which had become quite gross from all the vomit and blood.  
Boris chuckled. “I have a little surprise for you, though!”

“What?”

He reached in his front pocket and pulled out an acid strip. He opened it and there were six tabs inside. They all had a star on them. “See?”

“How, how did you get this?” I hadn’t tripped in many months.

“This kid, Seth Wilson, his father has a shit ton. He decided to give some away for cash. He offered it to me after first period! Crazy! I had to give him some of our gas station money—sorry.”

“Don’t be. I prefer this over hot dogs that probably came out of the owner’s ass.”

Laughing, he took two off and handed them to me. “We’ll save the extras for another time, yes?”  
I nodded, and we both put them on our tongues.

Before we knew it, we were rolling on the floor, giggling. The ceiling rose and rose and we grew small. It felt as if the ground was rocking back in forth.

“Should we go outside? _To nudne jak diabli tutaj_!” Boris asked.

“English, bitch.”

“ _Nyet_.”

I groaned. “We can’t go out. Your pupils are dilated as fuck! I swear to God that not a hallucination, your eyes are black!”

“You’re for sure hallucinating,” he said, wheezing.

We ended up going outside anyway. No one even noticed us leaving. Boris’s umbrella switched colors every step we took underneath it.

Boris put the umbrella down. “Look up, Potter! There’s dick clouds!”

I focused on the sky for a few seconds before collapsing on the ground out of amusement. Boris fell with me. We roared with laughter.

“These bruises? They’re nothing,” Boris said, shrugging. I asked him about them. They were yellow, probably from a while ago, but I hadn’t noticed them until then. The drug had calmed down a bit. We sat on the swings, the sunset turning into the deep night.

“Come on, Boris. Who gave you them? Your dad? It’s not like I’m gonna report him, you know that.”

“Nyah, he’s been out for a couple of weeks. Just leave it alone. It doesn’t matter.”

I begged for him to tell me for minutes straight. He was visibly frustrated but gave in. “Um—well. You don’t remember. You can get depressed and. . . what’s the word? Desperate. You don’t do all this stuff for fun like me. I sometimes have to keep you from doing things you would regret. Is scary and violent sometimes. Happened a lot over the summer.”

What? I did all that? My heart sunk. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be! This is why you were better off not knowing. You aren’t you during those times, I cannot blame you.”

We sat there for many more hours, pushing that topic aside and talking about simple things like our teachers and new students.

Boris and I sat on the CAT bus, making our way onto the Strip. We had only gone this far out once, it was in the summer. The closer we got, the closer it felt to being in a different dimension. Lights flickering, cars and people moving around on nothingness, the ground was a void. I looked at my iPod, the time reading 2:58 AM.

There were only two other people on the bus. One was a pale man probably in his forties who wore ragged clothes—plus a frown. The other was a young, pregnant, black woman who was certainly scared out of her mind. She didn’t seem like the kind of people who rode the CAT.

“Do you think we’d run into your dad?” Boris asked suddenly. “Isn’t he just here all night? Walking around?”

“Who fucking knows? Who fucking cares?”

For some reason, we started laughing once again. Embarrassing to me now, but not back then. The others knew we were on drugs.

That night was a blur. I still can’t recall exactly what happened. It was great, that’s for sure. Hanging in alleyways, too close for comfort, but it didn’t matter to me in the moment. Fun and fast-paced, moving from building to building, Boris’s arm wrapped around me. The looks we were given as we tripped over each other, too high to stand correctly.

## v.

DAYS PASSED, NOTHING NEW. We went to school most of the time, but sometimes our hangovers were too awful for us to even get up.

Kotku had lunch with us, which I wasn’t in favor of. She mocked and rolled her eyes at me constantly, mostly when Boris wasn’t around. She was more bitchy than ever before. Sometimes straight-up insulted me.

“Your outfit is tacky,” she told me as Boris got up to use the restroom. I was just wearing a sweater with a button-down underneath.

 _And your outfit makes you look like a whore,_ I wanted to say. She wore a black leather jacket with a cheetah print crop-top. I stayed silent, giving her a blank stare.

When Boris came back, he sat down cheerfully. “You should have come with me, Potter! Crazy shit going down in the bathroom! A few guys were smoking weed!”

“Cool. . .” I responded with an attitude, for whatever reason. I had frequent mood swings. Everyone already knew our school was full of druggies.

One night, I tried telling Boris about Kotku’s behavior. I then realized he was too drunk and would probably, like the hothead he is, be filled with rage.

I was laying my head on Boris’s shoulder. We were at his house, in his bed. He had recently gotten the Mean Girls DVD, which we were watching. It was even more hilarious when high.

“Hey. . . don’t you think Kotku was being kind of. . . uh—”

He interrupted me. “Kind of what? What did she ever do to you?”

“Calm down. Nothing. Forget about it.”

But that day, as we walked home, I decided to ask. It was humid and hot, but clouds covered the sky. Cold sweat ran down my back. “Kotku is kind of rude to me, you’ve noticed that, right?”

“What? She isn’t. I get it, you’re jealous, but don’t make up things.”

I groaned. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me. She isn’t what you think she is when you’re not there. She can be a. . . _pierdolony suka._ ”

“Watch what you say. I’m not kidding,” he said, picking up his pace to abandon me.

Later that night, I sat on the floor of my bedroom, eating potato chips for dinner with Popchyk beside me. What is Boris’s problem? Why can’t he accept criticism of Kotku? Does he do that with me? These kinds of questions raced through my mind, unsolved.

With all the silence, my thoughts changed from topic to topic. I missed my mother. Everything reminded me of her. Hugs, music, food—hell, even my dad. At least I was no longer in New York, where I would think: _we passed by that building the day she died_.

I was taken out of my thoughts when the sound of our doorbell rung downstairs. No one ever visited—except for Boris. Shit.

Shock flooded my expression as I opened the door. Boris was panting, bleeding all over, both his eyes bruised. His long hair was stuck to his forehead and cheeks from all the sweat. “Hey,” Boris let out.

“Did your dad come home?” I asked, leading him inside.

He shook his head. “No, no. Kotku. I kind of thought about what you said. She’s also a cunt to me. A cheater, too! I can’t believe I forgived her.”

“Forgave.”

“Shush. Anyway, I went to her apartment and things got kind of intense. Her friend was over which wasn’t good. Whatever. Gimmie a beer, would ya?”

I started toward the bathroom door. “I’d rather give you a medic. You look bad.”

I spent a good 15 minutes taking care of Boris. Rubbing off the blood, having him chug water and hold an ice pack to his wounded face. Later, we sat on the living room floor watching TV.

 _I hope rumors don’t spread about this. I would look weak—and gay. Boris too,_ I thought. Caring for your friends in any way was immediately misinterpreted.

I got up and grabbed a bottle of vodka from the kitchen, wishing for a distraction from my thoughts.

## vi.

“JEEZ, YOU GOT HER GOOD,"I said to Boris. Kotku passed by, giving a death stare. Her lip was cut and she had a bruise on her chin. I wondered if there was more damage to her arms since they were covered with her jacket.

“Hah! I know. Her friends for sure know about it though. They’ve been giving me the same look.” Boris was wearing sunglasses, as he sometimes did when his face was in bad condition. He was told to take them off by a teacher every single time.

“Does anyone else know? Like, not her friends?”

“C’mon, let’s get to class,” he said, wrapping his arm around the back of my neck and dragging me along. “And no. It doesn’t matter anyway, yeah?”

“Yeah. . . sure.”

Dust blew over our shoes. We walked through the endless desert, minds empty. Both awfully drunk, words flew out of our mouths without a second thought.

“Do you miss it?” I asked.

“Huh?”

I looked down at my shoes, a faint shape in the dark night. “I don’t know, summer?”

“Yah,” he replied.

“Me too.”

This was an understatement. I longed for those days to come back. Days where we were the only people in the world, no consequences to our actions, no one there to judge us. We drank as much as we wanted, slept in as much as we wanted, and laughed as much as we wanted. Nights were the greatest, though they were a memory in the back of my head. I never felt the endless pain and silence I did at the Barbours.

“Potter? Have you ever loved someone? Like me and Kotku?” Boris said. I scoffed, he never loved Kotku.

“Maybe. You? I mean, anyone other than her?”

“Yes—actually, I dunno. I’m still figuring it out. The same?”

I smiled. “Mhm.”

When we made our way back home, the sun was already rising. Silently, we both decided that our next stop was the pool. The damage had been done, we constantly reeked of chlorine, our hair was ruined, so no big deal.

I squealed as Boris picked me up and threw me in, jumping in afterward. “Fuck you!” I yelled.

“Hah! Is—”

The backyard gate squeaked.

“What was that?” I whispered. Instinctively, we both scrambled to get inside the house. Watching from the window, a tall figure walked around, twitching.

“The hell is wrong with him?” Boris asked quietly.

“Does it look like I know? He might be one of those guys from that house down the road. With the illegal immigrants? Maybe he’s on drugs or something.”

His head turned our way. “Shit!” I said, my voice cracking. We ran to the back of the room, hopefully hidden from his sight.

“Let’s just go to your room—”

“No, what if he breaks in? What if he fucking _kills_ us?”

“Calm down. He is not going to kill us, Potter.”

A couple of knocks came from the window. He was standing right there. “Oh my God, _we’re going to die goddamn it!_ ” I exclaimed, grabbing Boris’s hand and making a break for my room. I locked the door behind us.

“You’re such a pussy,” he said.

“ _Idi nahui!_ If we went your way we’d be dead and you know it!”

He chuckled. “Trust me, I’ve seen much worse. He is probably gone now.” He looked took a peek through my blinds. “I don’t see him.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.” He stepped back into the darkness of my bathroom, pausing at the doorframe. “Nothing to worry about. Want some aspirin?”

## vii.

“PUT THE CHAPTSTICK INyour pocket, Potter.”

“Why? Can’t you just buy it?” We were at the local gas station. We decided against going to school, we were exhausted and our heads were throbbing from the alcohol.

“Nyah, I didn’t bring money. And I really need it.”

I glared at him, waiting for him to laugh and say he was kidding. He didn’t. “You didn’t bring any at all?! We can’t just walk out without paying for _anything_ ,” I whispered.

“Sorry. Let’s go before the. . . uh—cashier woman sees us.”

“Fine.” I walked over to the doors, but a voice stopped me.

“You kids aren’t getting anything?”

I looked up at Boris. He shrugged his shoulders as in _do something!_ “Um, no,” I said before dashing out.

We hurried to get back to my house. Dark clouds appeared in the sky, signs of a thunderstorm.

When night fell, we were on our way to Boris’s. An occasional strike in the sky startled me as we walked. He didn’t even flinch.

“This weather, it’s nothing compared to other places I’ve been. Snowstorms and tornadoes—hurricanes.”

“God, I know. I’ve heard your stories many, many times.”

He shrugged. “Just saying.”

Later, resting in his bed and talking, we listened to the radio—a rare occurrence contrasting from our usual Radiohead.

_One day I feel so happy, next day I feel so sad. I guess I'll learn to take the good with the bad. Cause each night I ask the stars up above, why must I be a teenager in love?_

I hadn’t realized our conversation came to a halt. I gulped, listening closely to the lovesick lyrics. Glancing over at Boris, I noticed he had a grin on his face.

I grinned too.

## viii.

SLAMMED INTO THE LOCKERS. A familiar face.

“You two faggots won’t get away with this, you hear me?”

Kotku. My back was jammed into one of the locks. She was hovering over me, so close I could smell her minty perfume. “What?”

“Boris was the only person that cared for me, and you took that away. Your life will become a living hell—his, too.”

She took a step back and walked off. The hallway was empty, all I could hear was my own panting.

“Fuck her,” Boris said. I had recited the entire conversation between me and his ex-girlfriend. We were in his bedroom, cigarette smoke lingering in the air. “But hey, I hear there is going to be a party at this senior’s house—what’s his name? Ah! Mac Wilder. It’s tomorrow if you wanna go to it with me. What else is there to do, am I right?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Things only went downhill from here, and it’s all my fault.

* * *

## Chapter 2.

## The End of the World

* * *

## i.

A SIGHT BORIS AND I had gotten used to. Much older and much younger teens, some adults. An occasional splatter of puke on the carpet, music in the background and laughter abound. Boris was wearing the most embarrassing shirt, standing out from every other guy in the room.

A crop top, of all things. I begged down on my knees for him to just wear his stupid blazer and t-shirt, but he refused. (“I cut it myself! Am not letting it go to waste. What if you wore it!”

“No!” I said—a little louder than I intended. We were in the hall, ready to walk out the door before Boris had shown the dreadful shirt. I shoved him into the wall.)

I seized Boris’s arm—too afraid of grabbing his hand like we usually did—and led him to the house’s kitchen. He fist-bumped some guy I didn’t know, wondering who they were to him.

“Potter! The Cure is playing! Oh, meet my friend, Martin.” he smiled, pointing discreetly at the stranger.

I stared at him, speechless. My mind was going all over the place.

Martin looked at Boris than back to me. “Potter? What kind of name is that?”

“I. . . my name is Theo.” 

“Then—”

I interrupted him swiftly, Boris would say something humiliating. “Doesn’t matter. Let’s go.”

Boris shrugged and patted Martin’s shoulder. “Well, good to see you.”

We headed over and joined the crowded group, the core of the party, in the living room. “Um, Potter—I need to go use the restroom. Wait for me?”

“Okay. Don’t leave me here too long.”

I sat down next to the couch and focused on the music. “The End of the World” by The Cure blasted. People stepped on my feet, but I hardly noticed. What I did notice was some odd activity going on not far from me. A small hint of fire.

I walked over, curious to know what was going on. Three burnout-looking boys sat around a couple of bottles, a dark spoon, and a bag of powder. One of them, holding a syringe looked up at me creepily. “Want some? We have lots over.”

Before I knew it I was feeling a rush. My palms sweated, my mouth was drying up. I sat down, fearing that I’d collapse if I didn’t. The last thing I remembered from that day was a shout.

“Potter!”

## ii.

_Boris’s POV_

I SHOOK HIM, BUT he wouldn’t wake up. “What the hell did you give him?” I yelled at the suspicious trio, but they just looked at me and at Theo. I noticed the burnt spoon. _“_ Heroin?!”

“He agreed to it.”

 _Chert poberi! He’s going to fucking die!_ I thought. “Call hospital—um, ambulance!” I wasn’t sure if anyone was doing so, my eyes were only on Theo. I hovered over him on my knees. I couldn’t even tell if the room was silent or not.

A hand tapped my shoulder after a minute or two. I flung around, a frightened girl in front of me. “They’re on their way.”

As I returned my focus to Theo, a thought arrived. _If this is the last time I’ll see him, it must be worth it._ I touched his neck gently, checking if his heart was still beating. It was. Impulsively, in a flash, I leaned in and pressed my lips to his. A moment I thought would never come, through fights on the lifeless playground, leftover dinners as we sat in front of the TV, swimming in the pool until sunrise and our fingers were pruney—I never imagined I could bring myself to do so. It felt as if it lasted milliseconds because before I knew it he was being carried out on a stretcher and people trampled over me to leave. I sat there, shocked of myself.

Everyone was gone—except for Mac Wilder. He was being interviewed by the cops outside. I got up, trembling. My body felt so much heavier, like getting out of a pool. That only made me miss him more, the days I wish would come back. 

## iii.

AWOKEN BY BRIGHT LIGHTS, I surged upward in fear.

“Theo?” a voice called. I looked over to my side, a blurry figure of my father—of all people. I then realized I was in a hospital bed. “Oh hey, buddy. You’ve been out for a while. I’ll go get a doctor, stay here.”

I flopped back down and slowed my breathing. What happened? Where was Boris? These questions didn’t matter for long because I was already being spoken to by a doctor, pale and aging. He seemed friendly enough.

“We are going to run some tests. You’ll have to get up, can you do that?” he said softly, definite feelings of remorse.

I sat up, tired and queasy. My dad handed me my glasses and the man and I walked out of the room.

“My name is Dr. Heath. I’m glad you weren’t awake during everything. You had quite the overdose.”

“Overdose?”

He turned a corner and halted at a bathroom door, turning to me. “Yes, an overdose. Heroin. Here’s this cup, it’s for a urine test. Not very pretty but we need to see if you have any drugs left in your system. You’ll have to answer some questions later.”

I did what I had to do, not enthusiastically but I was willing. Afterward, he led me to my room, left to test it, and had another worker interview me. My dad left the room, fortunately.

“I’m Nurse Raquela, but you can just call me Raquela.” She was a tall, tan-skinned, smiling girl, probably in her late twenties.

“Um, okay,” I responded quietly, my throat was sore and my head was throbbing. I felt more nauseous than I did during Boris and I’s morning hangovers.

“Now, this overdose. . . was an accident? Right?”

I nodded.

“Have you ever done drugs before? In any way?”

I stared at her. I had no idea what to say. “Well—I mean. . .”

“Look, we won’t get the police involved. You simply need help and support. You have to be honest with these questions, or we can’t do our best for you.”

“Yeah. I guess I have. A lot. Never heroin, though. Stuff like acid and uh—marijuana.”

She took this lightly, writing quick notes. “Any other things you did? Smoking? Drinking?”

“Yeah, both.” I felt guilty. Only a few years ago I was just some starchy, intelligent kid who lived in Manhattan. Then I became like one of those disreputable drunks you’d find on the side of the road, kicked out of society and looking for someone to save them. I had grown up to be just like my father. Not my mother. I missed her so much. I begun crying without even knowing it.

“Hey, hey, are you okay? Do you want a break? I’m sure you’re tired.”

I sniffled and glanced up at her. I was certainly exhausted. “Sure, okay. Thanks.”

I woke up once again, looking at my side. It wasn’t my father, even my blurry vision could acknowledge that, but a tall figure with black clothing and hair. Boris.

“Shit, Potter!” he said a little too happily. He scrambled to put my glasses—that gave me that name—on my face.

“Boris—”

He hugged me tightly, almost suffocating me. “I was so worried! Couldn’t sleep all night!” Stepping back, he punched my shoulder.

I grunted. “You know that I just almost died?”

“My bad. Well fuck! You’re alive!”

“Yeah. . . what happened last night?”

He went silent, biting his lip. “You don’t remember? I left to use the restroom and when I came back you were unconscious on the floor. I. . .” he trailed off.  
“What next?”

“Y’know what? Doesn’t matter.”

I pouted but sat up to embrace him again. “I love you, dude.”

“I—I love you too.”

## iv.

I DIDN'T STAY LONG. Leaving was a weight off my shoulders, the overwhelming amount of white and my own misunderstanding stressed me out. Boris rode in the back of the car with me, as he had no ride and was exhausted from walking to the hospital himself. I nearly threw up on the way home.

“Dad, could you pull over?” I asked when my stomach started to feel off.

“No, why?”

I looked at Boris, then up at the rearview mirror where I could see my father’s face. “Nothing.”

“Are you going to puke?” Boris whispered urgently.

I nodded, feeling it all come back up. I covered my mouth and swallowed it back down.

He grimaced, but we both ended up laughing it off.

When we got home, my dad sat me down on the couch, a worried look on his face. “Um, Theo, you know how you—uh—told the nurse, fuck, what’s her name? Raquela. You know how you told her that you had done this stuff before? A lot?”

I nodded slightly.

“Well her, Dr. Heath, and I agree that you should get help, if you really do have a problem. I mean, I knew you smoked or whatever but not all of this. Um, so, we are wondering if you are up to rehab? Not like. . . many months but just one.”

“I guess? I don’t know.”

He ran his hand through his hair, relieved.

“What? Did you already sign me up for it?” I asked.

“Well—yes. I just. . . I don’t know. I wanted confirmation. I’m pretty sure you’re going in a couple of days.”

“Yeah, okay. Could I go to my room now?”

“Sure.”

“Fucking rehab?” Boris yelled, pacing around the room.

I shrugged. “It’s only a month.”

“A goddamn month! A month!”

“Jeez, Boris, calm down.”

He paused and turned around. “You don’t understand. I’m going to get murdered when I get to school! Serious!”

“What—why?”

“It doesn’t matter! I told you! Fuck this, I need to go home. I’ll see you at school tomorrow, say bye to Snaps for me.”

I was about to say something, but he had already left.

## v.

GOING TO SCHOOL THE next day was terrifying after hearing what Boris said. We were given looks as we stepped on the bus, people turning to their friends to whisper whatever. “What the fuck did you do?” I said bitterly as we sat down in the front seat.

He hunched over and put his head in his hands. “We should have skipped, Potter.”

“Boris! I asked you something!”

“I—it doesn’t matter. Leave me alone.”

I rolled my eyes. When we walked through the halls, it was much worse. We were called every name in the dictionary by people we walked by. It got to the point where I shoved Boris into the guys’ bathroom with me, checking if anyone was in the stalls. “You have to tell me. What did you do?”

“Can’t say.”

“I’m going to find out at some point, better to say it now.”

He stayed silent, making me even more upset. The look on his face was familiar, but I didn’t where from—like deja vu. I could smell the cigarette smoke and sweat in the air, hear muffled conversations outside of our safe place.

The day went on the same, name-calling and stares. But, as we stepped out of the school, Boris was snatched and thrown to the ground by—of all people—Kotku.

“What the fuck Boris? You dump me, then immediately go after that queer? Did you even love me?” she yelled dramatically.

“Kaylee. . .”

She stormed off before he could even speak. I looked around at the crowds of people, then decided to help him up, even if it added fuel to the fire. “I’m—I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. This is my fault.”

Even better news, the bus had already left. On our tedious walk home, I still wondered what happened that day.

## vi.

I HAD NO IDEA what to pack. I threw clothes from my floor into a suitcase, random things I thought would be nice to have.

“You know you don’t have to bring that much,” Boris said, observing.

“Well—I don’t know. You haven’t been, you don’t know.”

He stood up and reached in his back pocket. I stopped to look. It was Kotku’s necklace, the one he gave her. A small, metal heart on a chain, something you could find at a Claire’s. “Boris, what the motherfuck?”

He smirked discreetly and handed it to me. “Here, you should keep this. I got it from her house.”

“You—you broke in? For this?” I asked, somewhat creeped out, but charmed.

“Just keep it. Okay?”

I smiled, took the necklace, and hugged him tightly. “I wish you could come with me.”

“Fuck off, don’t get all emotional on me.”

Laughing, I pulled away and finished up packing. I was going to leave in a couple of hours. It all felt like a fever dream, like going to school for the first time. I remembered my mother dressing me up in a button-down and tie for the start of kindergarten, her eyes bright and smile big. (“Don’t be scared, pup. It’s going to go amazing—maybe you’ll make some new friends.”

“What if I don’t?” I said.

She took me in an embrace. “You’ll always have me.”)

“Ready to go?” my father asked, breaking my trance of thoughts. He was leaning on the wall, a pitiful face. The door, only a few feet away from him, seemed so far and horrifying. I didn’t want to go.

“Yeah.” Boris and I got up from the couch and hugged one last time. “I love you. Stay safe, okay?” I muttered in his ear.

“I will. I love you too.”

## vii.

I FELL BACK ONTO my bed for the next month (hopefully). They’d checked me in, went through my bag, ran a drug test, and told me about the schedule. I was exhausted. I only had dinner and a therapy session left in the day. The food was alright, I guess. But I did meet my first friend as I ate. He sat down in front of me, the only other person at my table. His hair was curly and brown, a bit long. He was lanky and pale, too. His style was odd, lots of contrasting colors.

“Um—hey,” I said awkwardly.

“Hey. I’m Nathan, are you new?”

I nodded. “I’m Theo. . . I got here today. You?”

“Just a week ago.”

Silence followed. I tried my best to look mature, he seemed much older and I still looked twelve. “How old are you?” I asked.

“Seventeen.”

“Well, I’m sixteen. I know it doesn’t look like it.”

He chuckled. “Well, I’m already done with my meal. My room number is fifty-three, I’ll see you ‘round?”

“Yeah, totally.” He lived right next to me.

“So, have you ever seen a therapist before?” she asked. Her name was Ms. Green. More on the older side, with dark skin and dreadlocks.

“Once. After my mom died.”

“How did she pass?”

“A bombing. I was there too,” I mumbled, not sure if she could understand me.

“Yeesh, that must have been awful. So when exactly did you get into drugs and things like that?”

I bit my lip. “So, my dad ditched us a bit before her death and he came back to care for me since I had no else. That’s why I moved here. . . and then I met someone at school. Boris. He kind of introduced this to me, but it’s not his fault. I decided to.”

“Any other friends?”

“Nope, just us.”

“Okay, so what did you start out with? What drugs?”

“Well, it started out with just alcohol and cigarettes or whatever. He then got us weed

and Vicodin, since that we used whatever we got our hands on. LSD was my favorite, though.”

“Are you and um,” she glanced at her notes. “Are you and Boris close?”

“Very,” I replied, smiling to myself.

The questions went on for half an hour, her quickly learning about the Barbours and Boris and my own mindset.

At night, I took out my MP3 player and hid it under my blanket, listening to The Velvet Underground and Radiohead, music that reminded me of those I loved.

## viii.

I WOKE UP, OUT of breath, my pillow wet from tears. I reached over on my right for Boris, but he wasn’t there. Just a beige wall with a history of damage from previous patients. The sun was creeping in through the blinds—I was forced to wake up at this fucking hour. Looking around my room, it was empty. A little too empty, unsettling.

“Be ready for breakfast in five!” one of the workers yelled.

I groaned and rolled off the bed. “Fuck! My head!” I exclaimed without any forethought.

I dragged myself down to the cafeteria, not used to having such little time to wake up and get around. Once I got my served pancakes and syrup, I saw Nathan sitting alone, so I joined him. 

“Jesus Christ, it looks like you haven’t slept a second,” he said.

“I know. Why do we have to wake up this goddamn early? It’s seven in the morning. It’s ridiculous.”

“Have you _ever_ woke up for school? That’s at like. . . six.”

I chuckled a bit. “I mean, yeah, but we’re usually late.”

“We’re?”

“Oh, Boris. He’s my friend. . . best friend actually. It’s almost like we lived together, he was always over. He’s awesome—I mean, a dickhead.”

“Seems cool. I’ve never really had any friends. I doubt I’ll ever get out of this shithole so I’ll have to make some, am I right?”

“Yeah.” Even though he was nice enough, there was no real chemistry between us—and I could tell that wasn’t gonna change.

The group therapy was dull, people either didn’t want to talk or talked too much. I only spoke when asked to. Everyone there looked awful, some people looked like corpses, with marks all over their body from injecting whatever drugs (thank God I wasn’t into that).

“For our next meeting, I’d like you guys to have a letter to someone prepared and possibly share it, but it’s okay if you really don’t want to. It can be to anyone, a parent, friend, whoever. You don’t need to send it to them either, it’s just to get your thoughts out. Be ready to sleep in an hour, and you are dismissed.”

I ended up writing the letter in the main quarters as soon as I left. The room had lots of tools to draw or paint, a TV, board games, etc. I was almost secretive about it, covering certain parts as people walked by.

> Dear Boris,
> 
> _Privet!_ How are you? I honestly miss you a lot. I wish you could have come with me, I don’t like anyone here. Wanting to go home has been the only thing on my mind—well, you too.
> 
> We have to wake up so fucking early. I always think you are there with me but you’re not. I’m not used to it at all. Although, It’s been nice waking up and not immediately vomiting. I haven’t truly smiled since I’ve got here, I miss the stupid stuff you would say that got us laughing for minutes straight.
> 
> I’m starting to think Xandra and (maybe) my dad only sent me here to get rid of me for a bit. Xandra never wanted me. Anyway, enough with my rambling. How are you? Is your dad home? Is Kaylee still being an asshole? Have you died at school yet? Speaking of, what the fuck happened at the party? Kaylee said that you ‘went after me’, what does that mean? What did you do to me? I’m still so confused. I thought you told me everything. It doesn’t matter now, I’m miles and miles away from you but I can’t wait to see you again.
> 
> Love, Theo

## ix.

_Boris’s POV_

I SKIPPED MOST DAYS of school, finding any excuse to tell myself. _I’m too sick, I woke up too late, nothing important is happening today_. Some days I just had to. I was paranoid from the moment I stepped on to the bus to the moment I stepped off. Well, afterward too. My dad came home. Sometimes he was normal and nice, but other times he was too drunk to figure out who I was—thinking I was an intruder and beating me until I left. But, to be honest, school life was worse. Kaylee had been leaving me alone, same with most of the guys—they avoided me. But there were a specific few who wouldn’t let me pass by without a fight.

“Did you suck his dick too?” Eric Daniels said, his friends behind him.

I stopped and smiled at him. “Maybe I did!” I built up some saliva in my mouth before spitting it on his face. Rolling my eyes, I walked away, a bounce in my steps. The key rule was to act confident.

“Piss off!” I could hear him yelling, a faint sound in the noisy hallway.

“I will gladly do that!”

One thing was bound to happen: me actually getting hurt. For the most part, handled it well, punching them back or making a witty remark. But a couple of times, I couldn’t bear it. Holding back tears was difficult, I began breaking down in front of everyone the first time. People didn’t bother for that incident much, all they cared about was that I kissed my best friend. And even though my life went to shit due to it, I didn’t regret a single thing.

## x.

NATHAN BROUGHT ME TO his room, scrabbling through his drawers hastily. He snatched and pulled something out, a glistening shard of glass. “I was wondering if you wanted this. I don’t need it anymore. I found it the other day in the hall.”

“Why would I want that?” I asked, leaning against his wall.

He smiled awkwardly. “To. . . y’know. Relieve stress, so to speak. Have it, just hide it, okay? You could get in trouble.”

I took it, somewhat understanding what he was getting at. “Thanks, I guess? I should get ready for the group session or whatever.”

“Yeah, see ya dude.”

I nodded and waved as I walked out.

“Theo, your turn. Are you comfortable with that?” Mr. Ribble said.

I looked down at the letter, then back at everyone. “Yeah, sure.” I recited it, mumbling a bit and skipping a couple of sentences that were too harsh or personal.

“What is _privet_?” one of the other kids asked, she was blonde and had a good-natured smile.

“Oh, it’s ‘hello’ in Russian. Boris is Russian—but also from a lot of other countries too. It’s cool.”

“Do you know a lot of the language?”

I shrugged. “A little bit. Uh, sorry I’m talking too much.”

“No worries! That’s really interesting.” Mr. Ribble was always a little too encouraging and positive, but he didn’t bother me—unlike the teachers and counselors and therapists that spoke to me post-bombing.

I felt embarrassed reading my letter because everyone’s was sugarcoated, contrasting from my depressing and pessimistic one. They’d say things like “I’m feeling so much better!” or “everyone here is so nice and awesome!” when it was clear that it wasn’t true.

At night, I hurriedly used the shard of glass on my thighs before we were sent to bed. I attempted to not let any blood escape, but a few drops got on the floor, and I hoped to God no one would notice.

It didn’t feel as good as the drugs, but it was enough for me.

## xi.

I COMPLETED PACKING MY bag. One of the staff had just checked on us, leaving me fifteen minutes to get the hell out. I had a hardback, heavy book (a recovery genre, we weren’t allowed any fiction) to bang at the window, hopefully breaking it.

Quietly. I started to pound it at the glass, my heart racing and hands sweaty. A crack formed and eventually, it all tumbled down. I clambered out of there as fast as possible, almost falling on my face. Sprinting towards the traffic lights up ahead, raindrops specked all over me. It felt like my chest and sides were tearing me apart—I hadn’t ran this quick in years.

The way to Boris’s house felt awfully long. Anytime a car passed by, I flinched, in fear that someone had come to get me. I thought about turning back numerous times.

But, at last, I arrived at Desert End Road. Where everything had started, where I was safe from the world. Walking towards his home, I started to smile. Rehab had become a living hell for me and this is where I belonged.

I rang the doorbell, hearing brisk steps coming near. Boris opened the door, breathless. “Potter—”

Bursting into tears, I hugged him. He held me tightly and brought me inside. I was soaked and chilled to the bone. His house wasn’t much warmer, but tolerable. He sat me down on the couch. “What. . . what happened?”

“I escaped and you are the only person I can stay with and I ran all the way here and—”

“Calm down. You are safe there, yes?” he said.

I shrugged, still shivering. “Yeah, but it’s terrible. You have to let me stay here. I can’t go back. I fucking can’t! Everything about that place is bad! No one there likes me and I’m treated as if I’m a fucking prisoner!”

“It will be best for you in the end, trust me!”

“It’s _totally_ not like you’ll just help me relapse! Nothing can stop it, and that is that,” I shouted.

He reached for my hand, but I impulsively yanked it back. “Fucking stop!” I sobbed again, furious but collapsing into his arms—they were like wings of protection, saving me from my problems. “Please, please let me stay,” I muttered. He rubbed my back with compassion.

“I will walk you back there. We can talk on the way, yeah?”

I sniffled and pulled away. “Fine.”

“Just ring the bell. I won’t leave until you’re inside,” Boris said.

I gave him one last hug before alerting the secretary.

“I love you,” he whispered softly.

“I love you more.” The sun was rising, a sign of hope before I stepped back in the place I just escaped.

## xii.

THE CENTER WAS UPSET—but relieved I came back myself. They had countless people drive around looking for me. They also scheduled a conference with my father and me afterward. Xandra came too.

“We were really worried about you,” my dad said.

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, worried I’d come back home.”

Ms. Green gave me a look. “What do you mean by that?”

“He doesn’t want me home, and I know for sure Xandra doesn’t. I’m just in the way.”

Xandra straightened up, about to interpose, but Ms. Green stopped her. “I’m sure that’s not true. Anyway, back to the previous topic. Why did you leave and where did you go, Theo?”

“I left because I don’t like it here. Am I supposed to? And I went to Boris’s house, he made me come back though.”

“Can you tell us his address? We need it if this happens again.”

I hesitated but gave in after a minute or so. The conversation went on for another half hour, my dad asking unnecessary questions. But I did learn my time there wasn’t going to be extended, meaning I only had a week left. It was Nathan’s last day.

“What are you going to do when you get home?” I asked, the silence was too awkward. We were sitting on his bed, his room was completely cleaned out.

“Sleep, probably. My dad is a douchebag, he doesn’t care.”

I smiled at him reassuringly. “My dad was, he’s kind of better now. Hopefully, that’ll be the same for you.”

Our secretary, Mrs. Pheonix stepped in. “It’s time to go, bud. We’ll be waiting for you.”

We stood up and hugged gently. Suddenly, he reached down and practically groped me. I shrieked and stepped back. “What the fuck?” I scurried out before he could say anything.

My room didn’t have a lock, so I pushed myself against the door as hard as possible. I was breathless and confused. What was wrong with him?

## xiii.

MY LAST DAY THERE was a blur. I don’t remember much, but I was happy, that’s for sure. I didn’t have anyone to say goodbye to—no one talked to me. There wasn’t a single person or thing to miss. People would congratulate me as I passed by, but did they really care?

“I’m gonna miss you, bud,” Mr. Ribble said to me as we began leaving our group session.

“Yeah, uh, I’ll miss you too. . .”

We awkwardly side hugged—I was still sensitive to being touched after the incident, but I pushed myself to do it anyway. “You should just tell Boris, okay?” he told me, pulling away.

I looked at him, flabbergasted.

“I’m sure you understand. Don’t be afraid of it.”

I nodded and left, giving him a quick wave before stepping into the hallway.

“I’m proud of you, kid,” my dad said during our afternoon silence in the car.

“Uh—thanks.”

He glanced at me through the rearview mirror. “Boris is at the house waiting. He’s been really excited.”

“Shit, really?!” I exclaimed, my smile growing instantly. “Sorry.”

“Yep. Let’s say we go out to dinner tonight? How’s that sound? Boris can come too—”

I stopped him. “I’m fine going anyways.”

During the ride home, I became more impatient by the minute. I couldn’t wait to see him and Popper again. To sleep in my own bed, the warmth of them both keeping me safe, nights at the pool and mornings at the TV.

* * *

## II.

_Happiness is the meaning and the purpose_

_of life, the whole aim and end_

_of human existence._

\- Aristotle

* * *

## Chapter 3.

## Desert End Road's End

* * *

## i.

" _YA LYUBLYU VAS_!" I said cheerfully, my arms around Boris. I was afraid to say it in English, that maybe my dad or Xandra would misunderstand it. Our hug was tighter than ever, my excitement had gotten to its limit as we walked up our lifeless driveway. We were outside, the sun beaming and sweat running down our backs. I would have been in tears if we were alone, but I—as always—held back.

Suddenly, we tipped over and fell. Our balance wasn’t a factor, all we cared about was that we were reunited. We both burst out laughing. Boris was the first to get up, holding out his hand for me. I took it and stood, our hilarity just intensifying. We hugged again.

“I love you too,” he mumbled, acknowledging my fear. Listening closely, I could hear him sniffling. Was _he_ crying? “Let’s go to your room, yes?”

“Yeah,” I said as he propped his arm around my neck.  
Before we knew it, we were shoving each other and laughing on the floor like old times. Even though the gentleness Boris showed to me was comforting, this was our relationship—and that wouldn’t change.

“You can’t go back to school,” he stated as we finally calmed down. We laid on the floor, exhausted.

“What?”

Boris sighed. “It’s a real shitshow over there. I can’t breathe without people attacking me—literally.”

“Why? Fuck, you’re not gonna tell me, are you?”

He turned on his side to look at me. I turned too. “Maybe—you promise not to make fun of me? Hate me forever?”

“I guess.”

The look on his face was strange, I’d never seen it before. “I don’t know how to say it. Not a language thing, I just—”

“You can tell me anything, dumbass.”

He laughed. “Yeah, okay. You know. . . after you blacked out? The party? Um, I was really scared and I kinda. . .”

When I looked deeper into his eyes, he started to sob. “God—I’m sorry,” he whispered, rolling away to hide it. Once he pulled himself together, he began to speak. “I—I kissed you.”

“ _What_?” I blurted, shocked. 

“I’m sorry. I should go—”

“No, no, stay. It’s fine. It was in the past, I don’t care. We can forget about it—you were probably drunk—”

“I wasn’t.”

My eyes widened. “Well, um, let’s get ready for dinner.”

Boris stayed silent the entire time we were home.

“What happened with you two?” my dad asked, eyeing us. He had been talking non-stop.

“What? Nothing,” I replied a little too quickly. Boris was on my left, looking as if he was about to cry again. He was quietly panicking, I could tell.

“I’m going to the restroom,” he said, leaving as fast as he could.

I ran after him.

## ii.

"BORIS, WAIT!" I YELLED, opening the door.

“Not right now,” he said. His back was turned.

“Do you need water or—”

He looked at me. “Theo. . . I don’t know what to do. I don’t need water, fuck that. But my dad is going to move again and I really, really don’t want to leave. But I hate it here too and I don’t. . .”

I was speechless. He had never called me Theo once in our entire relationship. Was it really this bad? Had things gone to shit? I hardly noticed the ringing my ears, just like the dreadful April 10th. I also hardly noticed that I was hugging Boris—again.

“We can go back to the table now, I guess.”

I stepped away. “Sure.”

We were treated even more oddly afterward. I couldn’t even glance at Boris without a look on my dad’s face. Later, at night, our roles were reversed. I was the one holding Boris—I didn’t want to be snuggled with after the incident anyway. He wouldn’t stop crying.

“You kinda live here already, right?” I said.

He chuckled beside my ear. “I suppose.”

Sniffling, he laid on his back, staring at the ceiling. I did the same. We said whatever that was on our minds.

“I think I’m in love with you,” I whispered. It seemed as if a different voice was speaking through me, I hadn’t realized what I’d done until he reached for my hand.

We turned on our sides and gazed at each other. I admired his graceful individuality, the way his face blended together in the darkness, where all I could see was his beauty and how greatly he meant to me. Like the moon, my guide in life and sheltered home.

I blinked, Boris leaning in and kissing me. It was surreal, a hazy moment that stays in the back of my head. He brushed my cheek with his hand as he pulled away. My heart was racing, adrenaline skyrocketing. I felt awful because it made me think of what happened with Nathan. I didn’t let it ruin the situation though, as I kissed him back. It was only for a second—but one of the best seconds of my life.

We didn’t say a single thing, just flopping back onto our sides of the bed. I could tell he was smiling, and I was too.

## iii.

BORIS AND I MADE a promise the next morning. If life at school became too unbearable, we wouldn’t go anymore. Although my dad and Xandra kept a close eye on us now, we could easily fool them.

In other news, I had been desperate for some sort of escape. Boris was with me all the time, he refused to let me drink or use any drugs. He felt too awful for being the reason I was in rehab. I did consider cutting again, but I’d needed to find somewhere on my body I could hide it—and I would only be reminded of goddamn Nathan.

“Can I hold your hand?” Boris asked me quietly on the school bus. I had hardly gotten over the stares and whispers shared as we stepped on—but agreed to it anyway. It was discreet.

“Your hand is sweaty as fuck,” I said, bumping him with my shoulder.

He laughed. “ _Idi_ _nahui_.”

Throughout the day we were given looks and call-outs. I got used to it quickly, even building up the courage to flip people off. But that didn’t last long because we were cornered after dismissal.

My heart dropped when I noticed he was holding a knife. He had an intimidating face, dripping with sweat and filled with anger. Messy blonde hair, almost-black eyes. He was hovering over Boris and me. “You better leave this fucking town, you got it? We don’t want faggots here.”

When I didn’t say anything, he brought the knife closer. I assumed he had gotten his fair share of scaring Boris beforehand. “You deaf?”

I wasn’t going to agree with him, go on his side in any way. The only thing I thought to do was fight back. I stood my ground and socked him—years of doing the same to Boris turned out useful.

He held his mouth—which was bleeding—and cursed at me.

“Shit, Potter!” Boris shrieked, grinning widely and grabbing my arm to run off. No one could see us holding hands.

Our bus had left, so one long ass walk home was on the menu. I didn’t mind, we were in a good mood for once. We spoke about new movies we’d like to watch (Sin City, Children of Men, Night at the Museum, etc.), Boris’s crazy and probably exaggerated stories, and whatever that was on our minds. I even brought up the previous night.

“Am I a bad kisser?” I asked, smiling.

He shrugged. “You’ll get better sometime.”

“ _Ty_ _suka_!” I said as I shoved him. “Fuck you.”

Surprisingly, things weren’t as awkward as I imagined it to be. We weren’t drunk, we knew exactly what we were doing that night. I doubt I will ever regret it.

## iv.

BORIS LET ME HAVE a cigarette as we sat in his room. Everything was scary neat, I hadn’t seen it like this ever. We were still having a good time, somehow. I thought we’d both be having emotional breakdowns at this time of the night. But I missed and craved the fun of crazy hallucinations and endless laughter, halfway conscious and drowsy.

“Can I tell you something?” I asked, fidgeting with my hands.

He did one of our gestures—a simple yes.

“There was this guy, Nathan, when I was in rehab. Anyway, he tried becoming friends with me and actually thought we were and gave me things or whatever—”

“Things?”

“Doesn’t matter. When he was leaving he. . . y’know. . .”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “If he did anything I’ll beat his ass—”

“Calm down. He just. . . touched me?”

It took him a moment to understand. “Was he at least hot?”

“What the fuck Boris?” I said, kicking him. I should’ve been upset—but I wasn’t. In fact, I was pleased he treated it this way. No emotions ruining our one good night. I wasn’t worried about school or Kaylee or Nathan.

But like all things, it came to an end. A slam of the front door, shuffling downstairs. I gave him a pitiful smile before sneaking out with Popper. “I’ll be waiting for you outside, okay?”

“Okay.”

It hurt to hear him in pain. The wind was strong, even thunder lurking in the distance, yet I could only focus on Boris’s groans and cries. 

Finally, it stopped and Boris was trembling with the doorknob to get out. He looked bad, but not as bad as other times. With blood all over his clothes, nosebleeds, bruises, all that.

I helped him to the playground, he stumbled and tripped over my feet. Instead of taking our usual spots on the swings, we sat on the ground. Dust got in our eyes and shoes, but it wasn’t a problem. He laid his head on my shoulder. I sat there, unable to move out of awkwardness but still enjoying it.

The moon was full and shining, no clouds in the sky. It always reminded me of Boris and my mother. Badr Al-Dine.

_When you feel homesick, just look up. Because the moon is the same wherever you go._

Looking at Boris, I understood why they named him that. He was home, not Manhattan or Las Vegas. I felt safe and cared for around him—and isn’t that what home feels like?

I wrapped my arm around him and put my head on his.

## v.

"YOU WOULDN'T LET GO of me last night,” I told Boris as we prepared for our so-called school day.

“I don’t remember that.”

I smiled and sat down next to him on the bed, tying my shoes. “Well, it’s true. What, does Mr. Boris have a soft spot?”

He pushed my shoulder and gave an awkward smirk. “Shut up Potter.”

We couldn’t keep from laughing and it only worsened once we were out of the house and on our way to who-knows-where. A look in the eyes would lead us to hysterical amusement, crying and shoving each other in the golden dust.

Our area was deserted, so—without fear—we began dancing together, singing fucking “Hey Ya!” by OutKast and tripping over each other’s feet. It felt as if we were the only people in the world. No school, no Kotku, no Nathan, no Xandra, no New York or Las Vegas. Just us, living on.

We spent our time hopping around town, checking out gift shops and eating at diners. People gave us looks, knowing damn well we should be in class. It was fun though. I hoped that every day would be like this, as it was one of my happiest moments since my mother’s death.

When school was off and we were allowed to go back home, we bolted up the stairs, jumping face forward onto my bed and laughing. Boris tried tickling me but I kicked him off the mattress and into the wall, where our hilarity—once again—just intensified. It was odd, I was only this way when I was high. But it was a blessing I wasn’t craving drugs anymore and could still have fun.

Once we’d calmed down, we rested down in our usual spots and gazed at each other, cracking a smile often.

“Isn’t this weird?” I said.

“Huh?”

I shrugged. “Dunno, just. . . nevermind. Let’s go to bed, yeah?”

We both turned on our opposite sides, but I felt so restless and fidgety I had to ask Boris something.

“You mind if I go on your side. . . y’know, with you?”

## vi.

THANKFULLY, NOTHING WAS AWKWARD the morning after. Boris ruffled my hair as he passed by me, a subtle but sweet gesture.

“My dad’s planning for us to leave in two days,” he said unexpectedly.

“Well. . . you don’t have to go.”

“Is not really great here either.”

I furrowed my eyebrows at him, starting to grin. “What are you meaning by that?”

He cracked a smile too. “I know how to drive.”

We talked about it while out and about. Boris would sneak out the night before leaving and drive his father’s car over to my place, already packed. We’d get going the second he arrived.

“You know what we should do?” he asked.

“What?”

He let out a small laugh. “Go to school tomorrow. Tell the fuckers there we won’t miss them.”

“Yeah, sure.”

## vii.

“I KNOW ABOUT IT," my dad said unexpectedly, standing beside the wall as Boris and I came in. We stayed out longer than we needed to, the sun was setting.

My heart dropped. Did he know we weren’t going to school? I looked at Boris, who was oddly calm, and back to him. “Know about what?”

“I got some prank call from a bunch of kids. I thought they were messing around but then I thought about it.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, tell me what you’re talking about,” I blurted. “Sorry.”

Boris nudged me. “I should go upstairs, yes?”

I nodded and he shoved past my dad, a gesture that nearly made me lose my shit. He’s already upset with us both.

“I don’t want you being around the Russki anymore. He’s a queer. You probably are too—”

“The fuck? Why would you think that?” I responded, raising my voice.

“He _kissed_ you! Stop acting like you don’t know or I’ll beat the goddamn shit out of you!” he shouted back, stepping forward and grabbing me by the shirt collar. I could see the veins in his forehead.

I was choking up, not sure what to say either. I pushed him off me and ran to my room.

“We’re going right now, Boris.” He sat on the edge of my bed, bouncing his leg and scratching his arms.

“Look, it doesn’t matter what he thinks. Let’s get out of here,” I said, grabbing my already-packed bag and motioning him to the window. “I know it’s a big drop but we’ll be fine.”

He gave me a half-hearted smile and came over, peering down. “What about my stuff?”

“When we stop by your house for the car or whatever get a few things. Just be quick about it.”

“Okay, I’ll go first.” He jumped out without any forethought. “ _Blyat!_ ” he yelled, holding his foot. He then looked up at me. “It’s fine, Potter, just be prepared.”

I gulped and climbed over. The fall felt so long yet short at the same time. My foot felt like it was being crushed, but I forced myself not to cry out. Instead, I focused on the sky, a dark blue, only a faint shimmer of sunlight. I then remembered Popper. He was sitting inside, watching us from the sliding doors. “Shit, Boris. Is my dad still there? Oh, thank fuck, he isn’t.” I opened the door slightly and let him through. Boris picked him up and kissed him on the nose.

On the walk to Boris’s house, we were silent. The wind was howling and the cold was extreme. When he came out of the front door with a backpack and the keys, we raced to get in the car. The warmth of the heater and Boris and Popchik was all I needed.

He started the car and I grabbed his hand. A quick squeeze, meaning _I love you_.

This was goodbye. Goodbye to our problems. Goodbye to the wind, sand, and stars. Goodbye to the memories embedded in the ground. Goodbye to our old life.

## viii.

IT'S HARD TO EXPLAIN how I felt leaving Vegas. I felt both mournful and content. Because Vegas had been my home for years—well actually, to be honest, I never considered it home. It was all temporary. As if I was on an awfully long vacation I never wanted. But I had lived here, created unforgettable memories (both good and bad), tried new things, met the love of my life. Leaving it all was a conflicting experience.

We had been driving all night. I felt bad, I wish we could take breaks where I drove and Boris slept but, obviously, I didn’t know how to. The sun was coming up and I believed we were in Colorado. A small town, mountains surrounding. Boris was filling up the gas.

“Hey,” I let out, rubbing my eyelids.

“ _Dzień dobry,_ _suka._ ”

I smiled. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning—wait, no.”

We both started cracking up for whatever reason, either out of drowsiness or our usual hysteria. It wasn’t even that funny.

When he sat down and shut the door, we laughed even harder. I thought that nothing could go wrong, it was just us and the road.

Smiling at each other, he leaned in and gave me a quick peck on the lips. It was surprisingly casual, he just started the car and got driving again.

I couldn’t help but stare at him. He moved with admirable confidence, grinning and glancing at me from the corner of his eyes. The sun radiated on his skin, highlighting the way his freckles stood out and sparkled.

The radio, which was nearly broken, began playing a muffled _A_ _Teenager_ _in Love._ The memory of listening to this only a couple of months earlier popped into my head, a sweet moment that was only the beginning.

## ix.

I COULDN'T WAIT UNTIL things went back to usual. Not that I didn’t enjoy Boris’s affection, it’s that my relationship with him wasn’t defined by grand gestures or sayings of love. Because love is a feeling, it’s something in your heart. You can love and be loved without words or actions. If it’s true, you already know well enough. I never believed much in soulmates, but there has to be someone you feel so attached to, that they are your home and you are theirs.

We were in Des Moines, Iowa. Boris stopped by a gas station to get us some sort of dinner. Expired hot dogs weren’t ideal, but it was all we had.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna sleep?”

He was exhausted but determined to get us to New York. “Nyah, I’ll be fine. We would be caught anyway.”

I turned up the radio to hear “Bad” by Michael Jackson. Nodding our heads to the beat turned into swaying and singing along. The sun was setting and the city was a faint blur in the distance, a core of light underneath the sky. The clouds paired with its color well.

“Is this Boris Pavlikovsky listening to something new for once?” I joked, jabbing him in the shoulder.

He laughed and jabbed me back. “I’m gonna crash if you don’t shut the fuck up, Potter!”

I turned around to look at a barking and bouncing Popchik. I picked him up and put him on my lap.

“Did you bring any cigarette packs or. . . I don’t know.”

He glanced at me. “I don’t want you fucking around with any of that stuff anymore.”

“It’s not like I’m drinking. But also, what’s the deal with that too? I can’t overdose on it.” 

“You can! _Ty tupaya durak_ ,” he said. “And you’re not yourself, anyway. Is all good fun until you try lighting the house on fire or getting hit by car. And I have to deal with it myself.”

I stayed silent, looking away and bringing Popper closer.

## x.

WE WERE GETTING CLOSER and closer to Hobart and Blackwell by the minute. I was embarrassingly giddy, like a little girl. The past 15 hours or so were a drag. Boris would occasionally curse at our janky GPS, upset that it hardly worked. Same with the car itself. I refused to talk to him until I got too bored, going on about how nice Hobie’s home was and that he would like him.

It was raining _hard_. I was dreading having to dump off the car and walk in it, but the fact I was going to sleep in a warm home, in a bed, and with Boris, where’d I’d be cared for, helped me pull through.

“Alright, time to see your old poofter,” he said, putting the car to a halt in a parking lot. He smiled at me.

I felt like crying. I had remembered certain places that I and my mother walked as we passed by them. She flooded my brain, as if this wasn’t New York, just her. Everything reminded me of her.

Taking a deep breath, I smiled back at him and stepped out. “I can’t imagine how I was used to this, it’s awful.” Large droplets splattered on me all over, sending shivers down my spine.

“Guess what I brought!” He reached in the car and brought out the very umbrella from the first day we met, which tied us together and eventually led to this moment.

“No way!” I exclaimed, rushing to grab our bags and Popchyk and get underneath. Boris held Popper for me, thankfully.

We walked silently, the sound of the downpour smacking the umbrella was too loud to even try speaking. But I looked at him. He was grinning, even though the situation was inherently sad. I mean, we had to escape our home. Where we’d met, lived and breathed in for years. We cried and laughed together, hugged and kissed each other. Loved each other. We were entering an entirely different environment, but it didn’t mean us, ourselves, were any different. Just a new chapter. Where hopefully we will feel much more at home and happy. As long as I was with Boris though, I was at peace.

“I love you so much,” I blurted. I didn’t expect him to hear it anyway. But he did.

“I love you too.”

We were on the street of our new home, I could see it in the distance. Our final destination.

Walking down the steps and ringing the doorbell, I hadn’t felt so happy in so long. Boris closed the umbrella. That era was finished. Hobie opened the door quickly, staring at us for a moment then bringing us inside with no words. We were led to the living room.

“Come, sit down.”

We both did so. Hobie was waiting for an explanation.

“I’ll tell you more tomorrow but Boris, meet Hobie and Hobie. . .” I thought for a second. Thought about our relationship as a whole. “Meet my boyfriend, Boris.”


End file.
